


Unawares

by Maggiemaye



Series: Under the Mountain [4]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: 500 words, Flash Fic, Gen, Kid Fic, Pregnancy, Tauriel can't outrun the past
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-04
Updated: 2015-12-07
Packaged: 2018-05-04 22:47:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5351231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maggiemaye/pseuds/Maggiemaye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Her aim is deadly as ever, but the child plays havoc with her balance and speed. King Thranduil evades her weapon easily, snatching the dagger from midair by its hilt.</p><p>Or: "Two Times People Sneak Up On Tauriel"</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A tiny Tauriel snapshot. There will be a second installment of this from Thranduil's POV (gulp), hopefully up soon. I'm stretching a new writing muscle here, so feedback is greatly appreciated!
> 
> A heartfelt thanks to all my readers, new and old. You make me so incredibly happy :)

“Take a walk whenever you feel up to it, lass,” Oin had said to her, patting her hand with extra gentleness. “This bairn’s ready. He just needs a bit of encouragement.”

It is a chilly autumn morning when Tauriel takes his advice, leaving the mountain to walk among the sparse trees that line the front gate. She rubs a hand over her belly as she goes, a caress to the child that resides there. Her son, she knows. According to Oin, he will arrive in a matter of days. Her chest tightens to think of it. But she has resolved to leave her worries beneath the mountain; they will all certainly be there when she returns, ready to be placed back upon her shoulders. For now, she craves a moment with no stone above her head.

Plucking a yellow leaf from a low-hanging branch, she traces it across the curve of her belly. There is a flutter-kick within her, and Tauriel smiles at the image of her child reaching eagerly for the foliage.

“I will show you this very soon, my babe,” she whispers, letting the river cover the sound of her voice. “I will take you to every tree around this mountain and we will touch the leaves together.” For if her child is to be raised in a home of stone, Tauriel is determined to teach him to love the trees as well. She pictures a tiny elfling standing on unsteady legs, craning his little neck to look up at the branches. Perhaps, she thinks hopefully, he will have Kili’s bright smile.

So engrossed is she in the imagining of her son, Tauriel does not hear the footsteps until they are far too close behind her. In an instant her heart leaps to her throat, a wild fear seizing her like none she has ever felt before. Shielding her stomach with one arm, she whips around and lets her dagger fly.

Her aim is deadly as ever, but the child plays havoc with her balance and speed. King Thranduil evades her weapon easily, snatching the dagger from midair by its hilt. Tauriel is left gaping. Members of his personal guard, clad in familiar green and brown, shift their eyes to the ground.

“Tauriel,” Thranduil says simply.

“My lord,” she replies, though the title is no longer accurate. It is futile to hope that her former king cannot see her apprehension, the slight shake of her hands. Her son shifts within.

“I see you have…assimilated to dwarven life,” he says with raised brows, his gaze sliding down to her belly.

The cold censure in his words is obvious. Tauriel stiffens her spine. She should not _care_ what he thinks of her choices. But she had once devoted centuries to his satisfaction. The old hurt blinks awake and raises its head.

Thranduil remains one of only a handful who have ever seen her weep. Looking at his perfectly arranged features, she wants to claw the image from his mind.   


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I never thought I'd be writing anything from Thranduil's point of view. But I've said that before about other characters (ahem, Thorin), so I guess anything is possible. Thank you for indulging me in this strange little thing, and of course feedback is more than welcome :)
> 
> EDIT: Shout out to helia for bringing a giant, mind-boggling typo to my attention. Thanks for having my back, friend!

“Erebor thanks you for continuing to treat with us,” Tauriel says archly as they walk from the throne room to the front gate, flanked by the Greenwood royal guard. Thranduil flicks his eyes down at her. He does not quite recognize the figure at his side, who wears her hair braided atop her head and who says “Erebor thanks you.” He has been to the mountain many times, to have words with whichever dwarf happens to sit the throne, but he never thought to see one of his own kind escorting him through the halls.

“I am not unreasonable,” he replies. “With Thorin Oakenshield away from the throne I find I have far more sympathy.”

Tauriel’s face twitches but she says nothing. Thranduil regards her out of the corner of his eye, noting the ease with which she navigates the halls. This is not the child he had sheltered. Nor is it the grown elf he had encountered under the trees a decade ago, pregnant and sick with fear. This is someone else entirely.  

She freezes midstep, her eyes widening, and a small voice rings out behind them.

“Got you, Nana! I got you!”

A tiny, black-haired elfling comes barreling out from behind a pillar, carrying a little bow in his hand and trailed by another, older child. Thranduil looks down and sees the source of their glee—a short, cloth-tipped toy arrow lying on the floor at Tauriel’s side.

Her eyes slide up to his for a brief moment before she sinks to her knees, affecting a grimace of pain as she clutches her “injured” shoulder. The pair laughs at her playacting without a second glance at the party of elves surrounding them; Thranduil winces as the sound bounces off the cavernous walls.

Tauriel flops to the ground in an exaggerated faint, grinning broadly, only to be tackled by her two giggling sons. Watching their play seems almost indecent; Thranduil feels like a voyeur as she speaks softly to them and sends them on their way. If Tauriel is embarrassed at her display, she shows nothing of it, standing up and brushing off her tunic as if nothing strange had occurred.

“Eronel is steadier with a bow than he is on his feet, I fear,” she says, matter-of-fact. “They run the mountain ragged.”

“I cannot imagine,” he deadpans as they draw level with the door. Tauriel’s expression goes soft about the edges, likely imagining another pair of terrors who had roamed Thranduil’s own halls in a distant lifetime.

A consequence of the long elven life is that folk fade in and out of it quite regularly. Thranduil has grown accustomed to this. But as Tauriel leans comfortably against the stone, he finds that he had not thought _she_ would be one of these.

The sunlight outside the mountain is jarring after a day spent within. As the gate opens, he thinks of offering her some parting word. But she is already half-turned away, and he pushes the thought down.


End file.
